


Song Of The Sea

by 1JettaPug



Category: KISS (US Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Transformation, Bulimia, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Eating Disorders, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Pining, Romance, Selkies, Slash, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 09:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1JettaPug/pseuds/1JettaPug
Summary: When the motley crew of Gene, Paul and Peter spend the summer in Scotland, they don't expect much in the way of adventure. But when one of them saves a mysterious man from drowning, their summer starts to take a dramatic turn.





	Song Of The Sea

"So you see, boys, no one is truly happy in the inbetween," the old woman said. "Not even the selkies."

Wind moaned in at them through the windows. She waited, letting the wind spill its rage out against the house.

The young men stared at her, two of the three wide-eyed, mugs of tea and cocoa growing cold in their hands. The tallest- Gene- had become immersed in his comic book rather than her story of old. The other two- Paul and Peter- were still wrapped up in the tale, their faces open with wonder.

Gene raised his eyes from his comic and over to his best friend, wondering if Paul had ever considered that he was far to old to be listening to this ancient, Elder woman. He just sighed, though, and let it go. He'd let them have their story if they wanted it.

Paul pushed aside a black lengthy curl of hair that had fallen over his eyes, then glanced at Gene and smiled. Gene just shook his head.

They hadn't come all the way to fucking Scotland to just listen to fairy tales. He had an internship at a marine science research center on a nearby island. Starting tomorrow he'd work long hours there until he left for a real position in the fall. It was a step in his way of becoming a marine biologist. Much better paying than his original idea of becoming a teacher in New York.

Paul had tagged along with him, wanting more than his taxi job, wanting more than his shitty apartment in Queens, wanting to explore the world and find himself. Or something like that. So far on this trip, all Paul had done was draw and paint, like a wondering artist. He was happy with it, though.

Their old pal, Peter, was traveling with them trying to get his name out there as a 'world class drummer'. It wasn't the first time he'd bounced around Europe trying to do that, but it was the first time he was doing it without his wife by his side. Paul and Gene both couldn't even count the number of girls he'd managed to bring back to their hotels by now. A nine inch dick will never fail to get a guy his girl, it seemed.

Also, Peter was their ticket for free places to crash at. He had plenty of cousins across the countries, and they all adored their 'lil' cousin Georgie' to death.

But this 'cousin'... Gene didn't know what to think about her. What kind of woman chose to go by 'The Elder'? Didn't make too much sense to him.

"_Gene,_" Paul called out to him. "Gene, you're not paying attention."

"Mhm?" he hummed, "Mh, 'm just tired, Paul."

"Well, you're missin' out." Peter said, sipping at his cocoa.

As the room fell quiet once more, the Elder slipped back into the rhythm of her story. "Now, where was I...? Oh yes. The land calls to the selkies. It sings to them and promises them new knowledge and joy. It whispers to them constantly, and they cannot avoid its tempting call. So, they swim to the rocks and the beaches, and they shed their seal forms. They look like people, then. Humans."

"What a loaded fairy-tale," Gene murmured under his breath.

"_Gene..._" Paul glared at him, then turned back to the Elder.

"Selkies need the land as much as we need the deep ocean, boys." she told them. "They need it for its danger and mystery. They come to the beaches, and they sing. They sing to the ocean and the sky. They sing to the stars dancing above their heads."

"Like sirens?" Paul asked. "Or mermaids?"

"A bit like sirens," The Elder nodded, smiling. "Their songs are very beautiful and soulful. But unlike sirens, selkies don't mean you any harm with their lovely songs. They don't sing to seduce or to kill and eat you. Their songs have nothing to do with anyone but themselves and their people. They sing for the simple joy of it, and because of that, I imagine their songs are more beautiful than those of any siren."

Paul smiled whimsically at that.

"That's beautiful,"

"Such a sap, Paulie." Peter chuckled.

"Peter..." The Elder wagged her finger at him. "Do not be blind to fanciful tales and legends. Appreciate them like your friend Paul here."

"Like _Paul?_ Elder, I don--"

"Now in this story," she said, ignoring the whines the drummer threw out. "There is a young fisherman, the most handsome in his village. But not a single woman would notice him, want him or love him. They would not because they had seen the man before his handsome youth appeared. They had seen his physical flaws, and they could never get past them. But the fisherman did his best to enjoy his life, his fishing, but he wasn't satisfied. He often wandered the beaches at night, so handsome, but empty around the eyes. He brought a satchel with him to collect shells and sea glass and the like, but none of those things made him happy for long. He was looking for something- anything- that would satisfy him."

Paul stiffened in his chair. His hands twisted together in his lap.

"Once, just on the cusp of autumn, the young fisherman wandered on the beach very late into the night, and he heard something. It was a sort of music that trickled through the air, low and sweet and completely out of this world. He started to run, rushing over the rocky shoreline, careening around boulders and tide pools, hunting the source of that beautiful sound. He tripped and fell onto a rough patch of sand. Blood trickled down a gash in his cheek, and his hands stung with many scrapes. But the pain in his body was already fading away, borne out to the sea by the wonderful songs that he heard. He had found the source of the wondrous music."

"Was it the..."

"Shhh, Peter, let her get to it."

"Oh brother," Gene muttered, shaking his head at his friends.

"The music came from a group of beings standing around on the shore. They looked like no people the fisherman had ever seen- certainly no one from his village. Their faces were mainly marked with colors of black and white, but some had striking colors lighting up their beautiful features. A tall, elderly woman led the singing, and the others danced or waded in the surf or lounged on the rocks and sang to the moon and stars that loomed above them, pale as their skin."

"That sounds crazy,"

"Gene, shuddap."

"It was one of these last that caught the fisherman's eye. He sat on a boulder in the shallows, a small distance away from his companions. He was folded in on himself, resting his chin on his hands, and his hands on his knees. He sang in a clear, true tenor that vibrated with some matching sound, some answering call, inside the fisherman himself."

"He realized that he had forgotten to stand back up after his fall, so he pushed himself to his feet quietly. He hoped the singers wouldn't notice him, but then he saw, down by his shoes, the thing that had tripped him. It was not a rock, as he had assumed, but something soft, yielding under his touch. It glimmered a little in the gentle moonlight, like velvet."

"Once he held it in his hands, he recognized it: a sealskin, but it was larger and darker and finer than any the fisherman had ever seen before. He knew it must belong to a selkie. In that moment, he knew who the singers were, and he knew what he must do."

"The fisherman took the skin, and he carried it back to his home, where he locked it away. Then he returned to the shore. The dancing and singing had stopped. There was only the sad sound of a single being crying on the rocks. The fisherman had just trapped the selkie on land with intentions of making the beautiful man his partner."

"The selkie cried and begged him for his coat, but the fisherman told him not to bother to ask. He had already hid it far away from the shore. The selkie's face paled. He had no choice... He followed the fisherman back to his home, to be his loving husband for the rest of his days... or at least until he managed to find his coat."

"Now, selkie-women had, for the most part, longed to live on shore. There had been exceptions of course, but as a rule females chose to lead human lives, have children. Once their children were grown, some would reclaim their skins and return to the sea. But most stayed with their husbands, surrendered their skins lovingly. That meant marrying, having children, growing old, and dying. Just like humans."

"Selkie-men, on the other hand, had little desire to tie themselves to the shore or to only one woman or man. They wanted to sample the delights that human females and males offered, and they were masters of seduction. But they didn't want any one person, they lived for the hunt. The chase. The seduction. They wanted to steal a someone away from their lover. Selkie-men wanted the satisfaction of knowing they were the winner, the champion. There have only been a known handful of males who had surrendered their skin to a human, thereby sealing their fate as a human-- to grow old alongside their chosen mate--"

"But... But what about the selkie in the story? What about the fisherman?" Paul asked, interrupting the Elder's tale.

"The story has many endings, child."

"But which one is--"

"Paul, none of it's true." Gene sighed. His back popped as he stood and stretched, and he cleared his throat. "Hey, Ms. Elder, do you have any snacks around here?"

She nodded, "Yes,"

Slowly but surely, she rose up from her seat and went to the kitchen, bringing back fresh chocolate chip cookies that had been baking in the oven during her story. Gene and Peter both licked their lips, hungrily. None of them saw the way Paul shut his eyes at the sight of the baked goods.

The Elder opened the bag, and a sweet pastry smell puffed out into the air. She pulled a large, golden, chocolate-studded cookie out of its basket and offered it to Paul first.

Paul sighed, softly. He took the cookie and stuffed it in his mouth, already looking guilty.

"Not like that, my dear," The Elder told him, giving him a gentle smile. "These are special cookies, they are to be savored and loved."

"Hey, Elder, are these _special_ cookies--"

"Georgie..." she warned him. Peter backed off and raised his hand, defensively. He always knew to back off when she pulled his real name out on him.

Still, Paul pathetically nibbled at his cookie. His tears didn't quite come, but they shivered over his eyes like a rising tide. He wrapped the heavy wool blanket around his body even tighter and began to shuffle up the stairs to the guest bedroom.

Gene opened his mouth to call after him, then closed it. Peter glanced at Gene, and he shook his head. The drummer raised his eyebrows but turned away and focused on the cookies, saying nothing.

"Great..." Gene murmured, "This summer is starting off brilliantly..."


End file.
